


A Lovely Apparition (or, The One Where Gerard's A Crossdresser in the 1790s)

by wordslinging



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Crossdressing, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-10
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael didn’t seem particularly shocked when Gerard approached him with the idea, but then, Gerard had never seen his younger brother look particularly shocked at anything. He merely looked at Gerard, blinked once or twice, and repeated in a flat tone, “You want me to help you dress up like a woman.”</p><p>“It’s the stays in particular I think I’ll need help with,” Gerard told him. “Well, and buttoning the dress, and perhaps the wig.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from LJ, originally [here](http://wordslinging.livejournal.com/14187.html).

The entire idea was sheer madness, of course, but Gerard was hardly going to let that stop him.

Some of the items he’d bought in person, under the pretence of shopping for gifts. For others—the undergarments, for example—he’d taken his own measurements as best he could and ordered from the makers directly, having his purchases delivered to a post office box held under a false name (one he’d originally used for the delivery of books that no respectable shop carried).

This much accomplished on his own, he came to a point where seeking the help of another was no longer avoidable. Gerard briefly considered the upstairs maid, whose silence could perhaps have been bought through loyalty, money, or both, and who would have at least some idea of what she was about. But it didn’t take long to determine that there was only one person he was willing to trust with this.

Michael didn’t seem particularly shocked when Gerard approached him with the idea, but then, Gerard had never seen his younger brother look particularly shocked at anything. He merely looked at Gerard, blinked once or twice, and repeated in a flat tone, “You want me to help you dress up like a woman.”

“It’s the stays in particular I think I’ll need help with,” Gerard told him. “Well, and buttoning the dress, and perhaps the wig.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanging otherwise. “And once I’ve helped wrestle you into a dress and a wig, what exactly are you planning on doing?”

“There’s a masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens,” Gerard said. “Tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow night, I know,” Michael finished, and then sighed, giving a slight shake of his head. “I suppose if you mean to try something like this, a masquerade is the safest place to do it, outside your own bedroom.”

“So you’ll help?” Gerard asked, with cautious hope, and when Michael nodded, he swooped down on his brother and embraced him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, Michael, thank you.”

* * *

Being laced into stays was not the most comfortable experience. Gerard was not precisely portly, but he was given to both infrequent exercise and frequent second or third glasses of wine at dinner, leaving him somewhat soft around the middle. There was a great deal of pinching, some shortness of breath, and more than one inquiry as to whether Michael was sure he was doing this properly (Michael replying that he’d done it in reverse often enough to not be completely at sea, and that if Gerard wanted his help he should accept it without complaint), but once the laces were tied and there was no more tugging, Gerard found the resulting tightness not unbearable, and even somewhat pleasant in a perverse way. There was even room at the chest for two wadded rolls of cloth, giving him a passable illusion of breasts.

After that, putting on the dress was far more enjoyable. The one he’d chosen was a bit old-fashioned, with a style that had declined somewhat in popularity, but that wouldn’t matter so much at a masquerade, and it suited Gerard’s purpose: a high bustline to conceal his lack of any natural endowment, full skirts to mask the shape of his hips, and enough layers of petticoat that he need have no fear of his manhood being discovered. It was a dark lilac in colour, with silver embroidery on the bodice, and the silk rustled appealingly as Michael helped him fasten it, sliding against Gerard’s skin in a way that elicited a delightful shiver.

Michael had him turn in a circle to make sure of the fit, and smiled wryly. “You would make a very pretty sister,” he allowed after a moment. “I should have to keep all your suitors in line.”

Gerard grinned at that, and then gathered his skirts up to step into the high-heeled shoes.

“Are you going to be able to manage those?” Michael asked, looking a bit dubious.

“I’ve practiced walking in them,” Gerard said. “Dancing may be a different matter, but then, I doubt I’ll do very much of that.”

The cosmetics were by far the easiest part, Gerard having obtained them well before the rest and taken some time to practice. A light sweep of rouge over his cheekbones, a dusting of powder that matched the dress in colour on his eyelids, and dark red over his lips. Michael ended up doing most of the work putting the wig on, Gerard simply reaching up to steady it now and then and handing Michael more hairpins whenever he asked.

The final touches were a simple band of dark silk around Gerard’s throat, a silver bracelet on his wrist (one that had belonged to their grandmother, taken from her room by Gerard more for sentimental reasons than because he’d ever planned to wear it himself), and a delicate half-mask that he’d painted to match the dress and the jewellery, tied behind his ears with a ribbon and then secured with a few extra pins.

Standing in front of his mirror to examine the total effect, Gerard barely recognised himself, which he supposed meant that he ought to be able to go unrecognised by any acquaintances he might encounter.

“Have you given any thought to how you’re going to get out of the house in that costume?” Michael asked.

Gerard had, as it happened. “You’re going to get the servants to leave the back stairwell empty for a few minutes, and I’m going to go down and then call a coach across the street.”

* * *

Vauxhall was full of light and music when Gerard arrived, lanterns gleaming in the trees and the sound of the orchestra spilling out onto the street. Gerard paid a shilling for admission at the gate and made his way inside, looking about.

He had been to Vauxhall often enough as a child, gaping at the spectacle all around and begging his parents for treats, and a handful of times as an adult, though on those occasions he’d kept himself largely separate from the pleasure garden’s other visitors, preferring to observe their merriment without joining in or lose himself in the more secluded walks. The place had never lost its sense of enchantment, manufactured though that enchantment might be, but as Gerard had grown older it had grown harder to feel that he was at all part of it.

Tonight, he already felt, would be different. Tonight he was no passive observer, but part of the same illusion of magical beauty that drew the crowds to Vauxhall, casting his own glamour every moment he was there.

The evening’s festivities were centred in the large clearing known as the Grove. The orchestra played from a building in the middle, open to the mild summer air, while some couples sat in the pavilions or supper-boxes all around and others danced or simply walked about in the open spaces between the buildings.

There was more than one young lady present who seemed to be without a chaperone, so Gerard wouldn’t stand out in that regard. As he made his way into the crowd of strangers, he felt a brief moment of anxiety, a belated second thought about whether or not he would truly be able to do this. But while several idly curious glances were cast in his direction, he saw no suspicion in any them, and after a few moments, he began to relax somewhat.

As he walked about, Gerard’s train of thought was rather suddenly interrupted when he stepped over an uneven patch of ground. Having reconciled themselves easily enough to walking in women’s shoes over even ground, his feet chose to greet this new obstacle with immediate revolt. He stumbled, and would almost certainly have fallen if not for the hands that caught him: one at his elbow, one at the small of his back, steadying Gerard for the brief but crucial moment it took to regain his footing.

“Steady on, there,” said a voice that presumably went with the hands, and Gerard turned his head to confirm this. A young man stood at his side, an expression of gentlemanly concern on his face, which was uncovered except for a simple black domino mask across his eyes.

He was short—Gerard thought he would be taller even without high-heeled shoes, and he was no paragon of height, himself—but handsome, with dark hair trimmed short and brown eyes that caught the light most attractively. He was dressed like a commoner, in a plain homespun shirt and russet waistcoat, but he had the bearing and accent of privilege.

“All right, now?” he asked, and when Gerard nodded, he relinquished his hold on Gerard’s back and elbow.

“Thank you, sir,” Gerard said, doing his best to pitch his voice high without it sounding false (another thing he’d practiced in the safety of his own bedroom).

“Not at all,” the gentleman replied. “It would be a crime to see a beautiful lady in distress and not come to her aid.”

Gerard felt sudden heat flood his cheeks, and for a moment, all he could think about was that he had just been called beautiful.

Then he remembered himself, and the full truth of the situation dawned on him: that he had just been called a beautiful lady by a handsome young man who had apparently been taken in by his disguise, and that he seemed to have blundered into exactly the sort of situation he had hoped to avoid by staying in motion and not engaging anyone in conversation.

Gerard struggled to collect himself, to give a composed answer and hope that his blush and awkward pause could be taken for ladylike shyness.

“Then I thank you for the compliment, as well,” he managed eventually. “And since I am no longer in distress, thanks to your intervention, I will bid you good evening.”

He bobbed down and back up in what he hoped was a passable curtsey, and then turned to walk away.

* * *

Frank had loved masquerades for as long as he could remember.

He loved the escape from the ordinary, the chance to be someone else for an evening, and he loved all the possibilities that went hand in hand with that. One could get away with things at a masquerade that would never be possible, never be allowed, in the ordinary course of things, and Frank never tired of that intoxicating feeling of freedom.

For example, in the ordinary course of things, it would be nothing short of scandalous for a young woman to appear in public without a chaperone. But at a masquerade, particularly one held at Vauxhall, a girl craving freedom or adventure could do as she pleased without fearing for her reputation—and in the past, Frank had gladly assisted more than one young lady in exploring that unusual liberty.

Not that there had been any ulterior motive in Frank’s mind tonight, when he came to the aid of the woman in the old-fashioned dress. He saw her stumble, he caught her, it was as simple as that. It was only afterward that he realised how beautiful she was, and that she seemed to be unattended.

She curtseyed and turned to walk away, and Frank followed, drawing abreast and keeping pace with her at a gentlemanly distance.

“But it’s far too early for good evenings,” he protested. “Unless there’s a partner somewhere you’re hurrying back to?”

The lady blushed again, the flush of colour showing easily against her fair skin. “Perhaps there is,” she replied. “Is that some concern of yours?”

“Well, if you do have a partner, he’s a fool to have let you out of his sight,” Frank said, and then quickened his pace and turned to stand before her, holding out a hand. “And if you don’t, then you should dance with me.”

She stopped short at that, seeming surprised at the request. “You flatter me, sir,” she said after a moment, “but I’m certain you could find a partner less likely to trip over her own feet, or step on yours.”

“Let me worry about my own feet,” Frank replied lightly. “As for yours, my lady, I can think of far worse fates than having to catch you again.” The woman’s blush deepened, and Frank took a step closer, giving her his most winning smile. “Please? One dance, that’s all I ask.”

She hesitated, glancing around at the crowd, and then back at him. Behind the mask, her eyes were large and expressive, their colour a bright hazel that shifted from brown to green depending on how the light struck them. There was a certain amount of apprehension in those eyes, but also curiosity and excitement, a combination of emotions Frank had seen before.

“One dance?” she echoed.

“One dance,” Frank said solemnly, extending his hand once more.

She lifted her own hand, hesitated a moment, and then placed it in his.

* * *

The sensible thing would have been to refuse, of course. But then, the truly sensible thing would be to have never embarked on this mad scheme in the first place. But he had, and it had succeeded better than he had dared to hope, and Gerard felt recklessly emboldened by that success. And after coming this far, why _shouldn’t_ he dance at least once?

So he gave the young man his hand, and let himself be led towards the other dancing couples, doing his best to appear natural.

Gerard had received a certain amount of dancing instruction as a boy, and been taught to lead, of course. But he had rarely had occasion to put that teaching to use, and had some experience following as well, from the times he and Michael had practiced together. It wasn’t as difficult as he might have feared to make himself follow where the young man led as the orchestra struck up with a lively minuet.

“There, now,” his companion said after a moment, unconsciously echoing Gerard’s thoughts. “This isn’t so terrible, is it?”

“I’m reserving judgment until we both make it through the dance unscathed,” Gerard replied, feeling a smile start to creep across his face. “But it seems to be going tolerably well so far.”

The young man’s answering smile was broad, and had a touch of rakish mischief to it. He moved with an easy grace, quick and sure-footed as he led them into a turn. Gerard followed with less self-assurance, concerned less with keeping a graceful appearance than with simply keeping his feet.

Gerard did stumble again, towards the end of the dance, and true enough, his partner caught him again. For a moment, the two of them were closer than was strictly proper, the young man’s chest brushing against Gerard’s side and his arm around Gerard’s waist. Gerard drew back quickly (feeling himself blush yet _again_ ), and his companion let him go, hands coming to rest at his sides.

“You see?” Gerard said. “I’m afraid I’m not a very accomplished dancer.”

“Well, I find that the best way to become more accomplished at anything is through practice,” the young man said lightly.

In spite of himself, Gerard felt his mouth quirk up in a smile. “Meaning, I suppose, that I should disregard our agreement and dance with you again.”

The young man shrugged. “I’m perfectly willing to honour our agreement, of course. But should you wish to dance again, I should be more than happy to oblige you.”

The offer was tempting—very tempting, Gerard thought, looking again at the young man’s bright, curious eyes and easy smile. But he had been quite reckless enough for one evening, and didn’t intend to press his luck any further.

“I thank you for the offer,” he said, stepping back. “But I must refuse this time.”

The young man sighed, but gave an acquiescing nod. “If you must. Another time, perhaps, if we should meet again.”

“Perhaps,” Gerard agreed placidly, privately resolving that there would never be another time. Gathering up his skirts for another curtsey, he added, “It was a pleasure, sir.”

“The pleasure was mine,” the young man replied, with a courtly bow. “Good evening, my lady.”

Gerard smiled at him once more, and then moved away, seeking to lose himself in the crowd.

* * *

Frank watched the young woman go, doing his best to keep track of her as she moved through the crowd. Retreating to the edge of the clearing himself, out of the way of those still dancing, he lost sight of her briefly, then spotted the lilac of her dress again amid the confusing swirl of colour all around.

Standing on the other side of the Grove from Frank, she paused, watching the dancers for several moments. Then she turned, gathering her skirts around her, and left the clearing, vanishing quickly down one of the many tree-lined paths.

Frank wished she had stayed until the unmasking at midnight; wished he had some name or even a fully uncovered face to put to her. But even without that, perhaps they would meet again some other night. If nothing else, Frank felt certain he would remember her eyes.

* * *

Gerard made his way both home and back into the house without incident, enlisting Michael’s help again to get out of the dress and wig.

“Well? How was it?” Michael inquired as he unlaced the stays, managing to sound completely disinterested even as he asked the question.

Gerard thought back on the evening: the light and colour of Vauxhall, the music and the dancing, the way the smiling young man had looked at him and the way all of it had made Gerard feel.

“It was perfect,” he said with a sigh.

Once he’d changed into a dressing gown and washed his face, Gerard placed everything in a chest—the dress folded carefully on top, with the wig and shoes and undergarments tucked beneath it—and stowed the chest securely under his bed.

His entire outing might never have happened now, except that his feet were still sore from the shoes. It might all have been a dream. It was already beginning to feel like one, to seem like something he would surely never have been bold enough to do.

But he had done it. And having been so bold once, he already felt the temptation to do it again.

* * *

It was slightly more than a week after the masquerade when Gerard bought the second dress.

He had been on his way to one of the bookstores he frequented when he spied it through a shop window. It was a deep, rich blue, and more modern in style than the first dress he’d bought, with a simpler shape and longer sleeves. Gerard paused to look for a moment, and then hurried on. Several hours later, passing by the same shop on his way home, he paused again, for longer this time.

The next day, he returned to the shop and found the dress still there. And, after a few more moments of internal debate, he stepped inside to ask the shopkeeper about it, explaining that he had a young cousin who he thought might like it.

There was no masquerade that night—no excuse to wear a mask, no taboo barring anyone Gerard might meet from asking his name or other personal details. But Vauxhall was still Vauxhall, where one could go without invitation or announcement, and decline to answer questions, if one chose.

Michael sighed a bit, but helped Gerard dress again without further comment.

* * *

It was not, precisely, that Frank had been looking for the hazel-eyed woman. To phrase it that way implied that he had been going to Vauxhall in the evenings _specifically_ to look for her, which was not the case at all. Frank often spent at least part of his evening at Vauxhall, and he had danced with (and perhaps stolen a kiss or two from) several quite lovely women there since the night of the masquerade. And if he’d also been keeping an eye out for the lady from the masquerade, well, what of it?

He had yet to see her again, and was beginning to worry that she might not be so easy to recognize as he had hoped, when he turned and caught sight of a women in a blue dress. She was standing apart from the crowd, turned so that Frank saw her face in profile, and of all things, it was her slightly upturned nose he recognised first.

He moved closer, watching her as she watched the crowd, taking in sweep of her eyelashes when she blinked, the way her dark hair was gathered loosely at her nape, the elegant line of her neck, cut across with a silk band as it had been before, the gentle swell of her bosom beneath the silk of her dress.

As Frank drew near, she turned, and he saw her eyes widen in recognition.

“Hello,” he said, smiling. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“I’m surprised you remember, sir,” the woman replied.

“Oh, you were certainly memorable,” Frank said. Colour flooded her cheeks, and he hastened to add, “I mean that, of course, in the most complimentary way.”

“Of course,” she echoed, with a wry smile. “You were fairly memorable yourself, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Frank replied, and held out a hand to her. “And would be even gladder to introduce myself to you properly.”

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then placed her hand in his. Frank bowed low, brushing his lips against her knuckles. “Frank Iero, at your service.”

“Iero?” she repeated, her tone curious.

“My family’s Sicilian, two generations back,” he explained. “And you, my lady?”

The woman drew her hands back from his, pressing her lips together for a moment before answering. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I would prefer not to say.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? As you like, but I must confess that only makes me more curious about you.”

“I hope you can live with having your curiosity go unsatisfied, then,” she replied evenly.

Frank gave an exaggerated sigh and spread his hands. “I’ll do my best. But if you wished, you could make my disappointment more bearable by dancing with me.”

“I’m not certain I should encourage your attention, Mr. Iero,” she said. Her tone was light, but there was a guarded look in her eyes.

“I promise to keep my curiosity reigned in,” he told her solemnly. “You can direct the conversation, if you like.”

She stood looking at him a bit longer, and then gave a faint smile. “Very well, Sir, but I intend to hold you to your word.”

Frank gave an acquiescing nod, and offered his hand to lead her into the dance. “What shall we talk about, then?” he asked. “Fashion? Literature? Politics?”

“Not politics,” she said instantly, with a look of distaste, and he laughed.

“Very well, not politics. What would you _like_ to talk about?”

She thought for a moment, following him through the dance with a bit more confidence than she’d shown at the masquerade, and then glanced across at him. “Tell me, Mr. Iero, do you go to the theatre often?”

* * *

Gerard truly hadn’t expected to be recognised, hadn’t thought that the young man—Frank—would remember a woman he’d shared one (rather clumsy) dance at a masquerade with, or show any interest in dancing with her again.

Perhaps he should have refused, but for the time being, Frank seemed willing enough to let him (or, rather, ‘her’) remain a mystery. And it was surprisingly easy, dancing with Frank, making idle, polite conversation with him, to forget why this was at all a bad idea.

They danced twice before Gerard noticed how badly his feet had begun to ache, squeezed into the high-heeled shoes.

“Shall we sit down for a while?” he suggested.

“If you like,” Frank said, glancing about. “Look, there’s a bench.”

Sitting down in a dress still took some care—it wasn’t difficult, really, not compared to the shoes and the stays and everything else, but Gerard had to be mindful of the skirts and not simply throw himself down as he might have done otherwise.

“It’s a fine evening,” he said. More polite conversation, but also the truth; the sky overhead was clear, and there was a gentle breeze that kept it from being unpleasantly warm.

“It is,” Frank agreed. “And all the better for having seen you again.”

Gerard looked down at that, feeling his cheeks heat again. “You seem determined to make me blush, Mr. Iero.”

“Well, you do blush very attractively,” Frank replied.

“You needn’t flatter me so,” Gerard said softly. Aside from the fact that it made him feel worse about deceiving Frank, he wasn’t remotely used to receiving such compliments; they went to his head like strong wine.

“I mean every word of it,” Frank said, in a tone of sincerity.

Gerard felt a quick flutter in his stomach, pleasant and unpleasant all at once. This game was going further than he had ever intended, faster than he could gather his wits to stop it.

“I should go,” he said, gathering his skirts to stand.

Frank stood with him, a look of dismay on his face. “Have I said something amiss?”

Gerard shook his head. “No, truly—I’ve enjoyed your company, very much, but I didn’t intend to stay as long as I have.”

“Very well.” Frank took Gerard’s hand and bowed over it, and didn’t let go right away. “If I might ask—may I see you here again, some other evening?”

Gerard looked away from him, lower lip caught between his teeth. “I—I can’t say,” he stammered after a moment, knowing his answer should be a simple _no_ but finding himself unable to say it.

“Then I can only hope, I suppose,” Frank said resignedly, stepping back.

* * *

Having indulged in a glass of wine to soothe his nerves once he was home (and then another to help him sleep, and a third upon realizing that the bottle was almost empty and might as well be finished off), Gerard didn’t emerge from his rooms until late the next day. His family and the servants were used to his habits, and paid them little mind; he scrounged a late breakfast in the kitchen, then wandered into the parlour to find Michael reading a newspaper.

“Are you planning to make a habit of this, then?” Michael asked idly, without looking up from his paper.

Gerard let out a sigh, sinking down onto a chaise. “I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to,” Michael finished for him.

“Yes,” Gerard admitted, after a brief pause.

Michael glanced up, eyeing his brother over the tops of his spectacles. “Do you think you can keep doing it without being caught? In all honesty?”

Gerard thought about the fact that no one at Vauxhall had seemed to look at him askance, and about Frank, who on the one hand hadn’t seemed to suspect anything, but on the other had shown a level of interest that could make it hard to continue to fool him if they did meet again.

“I…don’t know,” he said honestly.

Michael gave a slight shrug. “Well, give it some thought. If you really think you can manage it, I’ll trust your judgment.”

Gerard smiled wryly. He knew he shouldn’t depend too much on Michael for advice on whether or not to continue; their mother had always said that if her eldest son ever walked off of a cliff, Michael would follow him.

A knock on the door forestalled any further discussion. Michael called, “Come in,” and the butler entered.

“There’s a Mr. Iero here to see you, sir,” he said, speaking to Michael, and thus not noticing how Gerard sat bolt upright, all the color draining out of his face.

Michael did notice, and cast a curious eyebrow in his brother’s direction, but then turned back to the butler, nodding. “Very good; show him in.”

As soon as the butler had left the room, Gerard stood quickly, banging his knee against the parlour table in the process.

Michael looked back over at him, blinking. “Gerard?”

“I have to go,” Gerard said, hastening toward the parlour’s only other door. “I have…things. To do.”

“What on Earth is the matter with you?” Michael called after him, but Gerard was already closing the door behind him.

* * *

Frank had been meaning to call on Michael for some time; it had been entirely too long since the two of them had seen one another.

“What on Earth is the matter with you?” Michael was saying as Frank entered the parlour, apparently to no one at all, as he was alone.

“Hello, Michael,” Frank said, grinning. “Who are you talking to?”

“My brother, he was here a moment ago,” Michael replied, rising from his seat. “Hello, Frank.”

“I still don’t believe you actually have a brother,” Frank said teasingly as they shook hands; the existence, non-existence, or possible invisibility of Michael’s reclusive older brother was a topic of both debate and amusement among their circle of friends, and the few who claimed to have seen him before were often playfully accused of being co-conspirators in some strange joke of Michael’s.

“If you’d come in a moment sooner, you would have seen him,” Michael protested (if one could be said to protest without changing one’s tone of voice at all). “He ran out as though he’d seen a ghost.”

“Ah, well, I’ll have to be quicker next time. Catch him unawares.” Frank sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him. “So. You’ve been well, I trust?”

Michael returned to his seat as well, nodding. “Well enough. And you?”

Frank shrugged. “As usual. My father wants me to do something more useful with myself and my mother wants me to get married, but neither of them wants either badly enough to stop my allowance.”

“And there’s still no chance of your wanting to get married of your own accord, I suppose?” Michael asked.

Frank gave a short, dry laugh. “Considering that the most interesting girl I’ve met lately hasn’t even told me her name, I’d say my prospects are less than spectacular.”

Michael quirked an eyebrow at him. “Since when do you take interest in a girl and fail to get her name?”

“Well, the first time we met was at a masquerade,” Frank explained. “And the second time, she simply…wouldn’t tell me. I’ve asked around a bit, but no one seems to know her.”

“Oh?” Michael leaned forward a little, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Where did you meet her?”

“Vauxhall,” Frank told him, and laughed again, shaking his head. “I…it’s absurd, Michael, I barely know a thing about her. And yet I can’t seem to put her out of my mind.”

Michael looked at him for a moment, expression as unreadable as ever. “Tell me about her,” he said, at length. “What did she look like?”

* * *

Gerard was still hiding in his bedroom an hour later, when Michael came to find him, bent over a book that was failing to hold his attention as well as he was trying to pretend.

“So,” Michael began, folding his arms and leaning against the edge of Gerard’s desk. “Frank was telling me all about a mysterious lady who’s captured his interest. One he met at Vauxhall.”

Gerard hunched his shoulders, holding the book less than an inch from his nose as though he could hide behind it.

“Gerard?” Michael prompted.

“I didn’t know he was a friend of yours,” Gerard burst out, tossing the book onto the desk. “If you’ve ever mentioned him to me, I didn’t remember it, and Lord knows I haven’t met all the people you know, and I had no idea that he was going to _come to our house without warning_ , for pity’s sake.”

Michael shook his head, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Well. Now you know.”

“Yes,” Gerard agreed dourly. “…What did he have to say, exactly?”

“About his mysterious lady, you mean?” Michael asked, sarcasm tinging the words. “That he thinks about her often, and hopes that if they meet again he can learn her identity, but he would be glad just to see her again regardless.”

“Oh,” Gerard said quietly, looking down at his desk. “I see.”

“Gerard.” Gerard didn’t look up, but he could feel his brother’s eyes on him.

“Michael?” he replied, his tone unassuming.

“ _Gerard_. Of all the bad ideas you’ve ever had—”

“Who said anything about having ideas?” Gerard replied airily, picking up the book again.

It took a few days for Gerard to work up his resolve, and another few for him to wheedle Michael into helping again.

(“It’s not as though I’m going to _do_ anything besides dance with him,” Gerard had argued. “I’m not foolish enough to imagine anything more will come of this.”)

He bought the third dress in the meantime, this one in pearl-gray satin, and a new pair of shoes to better match it. What he would do with his growing collection of women’s clothing and accessories if he _did_ stop wearing them was, for the moment, a question he had declined to give much consideration to.

* * *

It was possible, Gerard thought as he stepped through the gate, that he was more nervous walking into Vauxhall tonight than he had been the first night he’d come here in a dress. He was trying his best to master his anxiety—nothing to be anxious over was going to happen tonight, he was simply going to have to make sure of that—when he spotted Frank a short distance away.

Frank turned and caught sight of Gerard, and his entire expression brightened, a smile blooming across his face. Gerard felt that smile tug at his heart, even as his stomach seemed to drop into his shoes. But it was too late for second thoughts; Frank was already moving through the crowd toward him.

“I was hoping I would see you again,” he said as he reached Gerard, and beneath all the easy charm and society manners, there was something sweetly earnest in his tone. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

Gerard smiled back at him, unable to do otherwise. “I’m glad to see you again, as well.”

Frank offered his arm, Gerard took it, and they walked further into the Grove together.

“Would you like to dance?” Frank asked. “Or anything to drink?”

Gerard considered. On the one hand, he certainly felt as though he could use a drink. On the other, it would be best to keep his wits about him, and he also had to consider how it would look for an unchaperoned woman to drink too much. Nerves won out; surely a single drink wouldn’t be too much.

The cup Frank handed him was small, but the punch served at Vauxhall was known for its potency, and Gerard sipped slowly. Frank held out his arm again, and Gerard let himself be led without paying much attention to where they were going. When he glanced around again, he realised they had left the Grove. Their path was still well-lit, lanterns hung from the trees at regular intervals, and the music was still audible, but for the moment, they were alone.

“Should I be concerned about your intentions, Mr. Iero?” Gerard asked. For the moment, at least, he wasn’t—they weren’t so far away and the music wasn’t so loud that a shout wouldn’t be heard, if it came to that.

“We can go back, if you like,” Frank said, sounding perfectly sincere. “But I thought it might be nice to talk without so much noise around.” He guided Gerard over to stand beneath a tree and turned to face him, standing very close. “You look lovely tonight.”

Gerard blushed and sipped his punch, using that as an excuse to avoid Frank’s eyes for a moment. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words feeling awkward on his tongue.

Frank lifted a hand to Gerard’s throat, brushing his fingers against the silk ribbon. “You always wear this. Is there some reason for it?” Smiling, he added, “Some reason you’ll tell me, that is.”

Gerard took a quick step back, raising his own hand to cover the ribbon protectively. “No reason in particular.”

“You’re such a mystery,” Frank said, his smile turning wry. “I’ve thought about you often since our last meeting, you know. I know I promised to control my curiosity, but I can’t help but wonder why it is you’re so secretive.”

“Oh? And what do you suppose the answer might be?” Gerard asked, keeping his tone as casual as possible.

“I have a few theories,” Frank told him. “Perhaps you’re married, and every so often you drug your husband’s wine at dinner and slip away for an evening. Or perhaps you’re a foreign princess in exile, and must keep your identity secret to protect your life. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me if I’m hitting anywhere near the mark?”

Gerard gave a faint smile, glancing downward. “If either of those was the truth, I wouldn’t be very likely to confirm it, would I?”

“I suppose not,” Frank agreed.

Gerard sipped his drink, keeping his eyes lowered. “Mr. Iero—Frank—if I could tell you about myself, I would. I can’t explain further than that, but…I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Frank took a step closer, touching Gerard’s cheek gently, and there was no trace of the earlier joking tone when he spoke. “So do I, my lady.”

Gerard looked up, meeting his eyes. They stood like that, close together in the mild evening air and the warm, mellow glow of the lanterns, and when Frank leaned forward, Gerard watched it happen as if in a dream.

And then Frank’s mouth was against his, gentle and sweet, and Gerard let his eyes fall closed and let Frank kiss him and let the moment stretch out as long as he dared before pulling back.

Frank let go of him at once, stepping back himself. “Forgive me.”

“It’s all right,” Gerard said softly. Frank took a half-step forward again at that, and Gerard put up one hand to ward him off. “But to forgive one impropriety is not necessarily to encourage another.”

“Of course,” Frank whispered. He took Gerard’s hand and pressed a brief kiss there instead. “I beg your pardon.”

“Perhaps we should go back, after all,” Gerard suggested. His face was warm all the way to the tips of his ears, and his heart was pounding so hard it seemed incredible that he could hear his own voice over it.

Frank nodded wordlessly, offering his arm, and it was only by force of will that Gerard kept his hand from shaking as he tucked it into the crook of Frank’s elbow. Neither of them spoke until they were in the Grove once more, safely back in the midst of the crowd. Then Frank turned to face Gerard again, taking his hand.

“I won’t press you to tell me anything, but I want you to know—if I could court you properly—”

“Please don’t say that,” Gerard interrupted quickly, unable to meet his eyes.

Frank looked away, biting his lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Gerard replied, tugging his hand free. “None of this is _your_ fault.”

Abruptly, he felt the need to be gone, felt unable to continue this charade. Gathering his skirts, he pushed past Frank, ignoring his “Wait, please—” and moving away as fast as he could without stumbling. Gerard cast a single glance over his shoulder as he hurried away, and saw Frank standing as if frozen, one hand reaching out and a stricken look on his face.


	2. One

Frank was miserable.

It had been almost two weeks since the last time he’d seen her. Two weeks since he’d kissed her and very possibly scared her away for good. Two weeks of spending at least a part of every evening at Vauxhall, looking for her in vain.

It shouldn’t have mattered, he knew. Not when he didn’t know a single thing about her other than that she had kept her identity from him out of necessity, rather than choice. Whatever that meant, it couldn’t be anything Frank wanted to involve himself in. He should simply put her out of his mind, stop hoping to see her again, and when enough time had passed another pretty girl would catch his eye and everything would be as it had been before.

He could tell himself this—he _had_ told himself this, repeatedly—but in spite of it, his thoughts still turned to bright hazel eyes and smooth, pale skin and the softness of her lips, unforgettable though the kiss had lasted only a few brief moments.

Frank had never been in love before, not really. He didn’t know if this could properly be called love; infatuation was probably nearer the mark, or, to put it less charitably, obsession. But whatever it was, he was in its grip, and he hadn’t the slightest idea how to free himself.

* * *

For two weeks, Gerard kept the dresses tucked away in the chest beneath his bed. In the past, he’d taken them out sometimes simply to look at them, hold them up in front of his mirror and stroke the fabric. Now he left them where they were, as if by doing so he could forget that they were there, forget that he had ever worn them.

He barely left the house at all, curtailing even his usual trips to bookshops and occasional outings to the theatre. He drank more than he should and wrote maudlin poetry and above all else, he tried to forget what it had felt like when Frank had kissed him.

Michael had, for the main part, left Gerard to his own devices during those two weeks, perhaps hoping his brother was finally giving up the entire scheme, and simply needed some time to brood over it before moving on. One evening, however, he appeared in Gerard’s bedroom, his expression stern.

“You didn’t tell me that you and Frank had kissed,” he began, and Gerard sighed.

“I was hoping to avoid a lecture. I take it that hope was in vain?”

“I saw him tonight,” Michael went on. “He seemed in low spirits, so I asked what the matter was. Gerard, what were you _thinking_?”

“I should think it fairly obvious that I _wasn’t_ thinking,” Gerard replied, raking a hand through his hair. “Do you think if I never leave my room again, he’ll forget it happened?”

Michael made a small noise of irritation. “Knowing Frank, that will just make his mooning all the worse—he can be as stupidly romantic as you, sometimes. If you want to know what I think, you should tell him the truth.”

“What?” Gerard blinked. “That’s…that’s a terrible idea, Michael.”

“Which would make it radically different from most of the ideas you’ve had lately, I suppose,” Michael said dryly. “Look—you needn’t even tell him in person. Write a letter and I’ll deliver it. We can explain that it was just an—an experiment you got carried away with, if you like, and once he’s gotten over being angry, he’ll find it hilarious.”

Gerard chose to become very absorbed in studying his own hands rather than meet Michael’s gaze, or admit that he didn’t want Frank to be angry with him, find their situation hilarious, _or_ know the truth.

“What if,” he began after a moment, “What if I went to Vauxhall again—just once more—and told him we couldn’t meet again? That, I don’t know, I was going to leave the country, or something else that would mean he couldn’t have any hope of seeing me there again?”

Michael considered that idea for a moment, but his expression was dubious. “I don’t know that that would deter him as well as you might think. And I’m not certain I trust you to go there again without doing something even more foolish than you have already.”

“I don’t think I can stand to tell him the truth,” Gerard said miserably. “I know I should, that it would be right, but I can’t bear the thought of how he might react.” He brightened somewhat as an idea occurred to him. “But if my trying to put him off my way didn’t work, we could always fall back on yours.”

Michael eyed him for a long moment. “Just once more,” he echoed.

“Just once,” Gerard repeated. “I swear.”

Michael shook his head, still looking very uncertain about the whole thing. “You’d better. Because I don’t care how much you sulk, I won’t help you with it again after this.”

* * *

The following Saturday was the date of another Vauxhall masquerade, one that Michael planned to attend himself this time. “I’m meeting someone there,” was all he would respond when Gerard peppered him with questions.

Mysterious rendezvous excepted, when Michael went to a masquerade it was largely to observe the costumes of others. He put the absolute minimum effort into his own, often simply wearing all black and telling anyone who asked that he was a personification of Death, or Night, or Sorrow, depending on which answer best suited his mood, and he rarely bothered with a mask, complaining that he found them uncomfortable.

As for Gerard, he wore the old-fashioned lilac dress and silver mask again. As he stood in front of his mirror, he thought back to the first time he had donned the dress, and how little an idea he had then about what was in store.

Their plan was to take the same carriage, but disembark a short distance from Vauxhall, enter the gardens separately, and meet back outside the gate at an appointed time; the last thing they needed now was for Frank to see his mysterious lady in the company of a friend who had disclaimed any knowledge of her existence. The driver clearly mistook them for a couple, and despite the fact that Gerard was a bundle of nerves and Michael was still conveying his disapproval through stoic silence, both of them couldn’t help but laugh at that.

* * *

When Frank first saw her, in the same dress she’d worn the night they met, he half-thought it was his imagination. She was turned away from him, glancing this way and that, and Frank’s heart gave a little leap when he realised she seemed to be searching the crowd.

He hurried over and touched her arm gently, and she spun around quickly, as if startled. There was something almost apprehensive in her eyes when she saw him, again reminding him of the night they met, but after a moment she smiled.

“Hello,” Frank said, smiling back at her. “I was afraid I wasn’t going to see you again.”

“So was I, to be honest,” she replied, looking uncertain again.

“I wanted to apologize,” Frank went on quickly. “For my behaviour, last time. I took liberties no gentleman should take with a lady.”

“You haven’t taken any liberties I haven’t encouraged,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “I think we’re equally to blame in that regard.”

They stood there for a moment, awkwardly, before she added, “There’s something I must tell you.”

“That doesn’t sound very good,” Frank said warily. “But go on, what is it?”

She looked at him, lips parted as if to speak, and then shook her head. “It can wait. Ask me to dance, anything, just…let it wait.”

Frank took her hand, bowing over it. “As you wish, my lady.”

They danced twice with very little conversation; she seemed to want to delay what she had to tell him as long as possible, and that, coupled with a lingering sadness in her eyes, made Frank equally reluctant to hear it. So they danced, as if by doing so they could forget that there was anything but the night and the music and her hand in his.

But they paused eventually, moving off to the side together, and she glanced at the couples still dancing with a wistful expression.

“I wish we could simply go on dancing,” she murmured. “Forget the rest.”

“I imagine our feet would get rather sore eventually,” Frank pointed out. “But I would dance with you as long as you wished.”

She gave a small sigh, and then looked over at him. “Can I depend on you to be a gentleman if we go somewhere more private?”

“Of course,” Frank assured her.

She put her hand on his arm with no hesitation, but held herself apart from him as they walked from the Grove, finding a spot similar to the one they’d stood in last time. Frank turned to face her, but stood back a few paces, keeping his hands clasped behind his back.

“Very well,” he said. “What is it?”

She hesitated a few seconds longer, clearly reluctant to speak, and then said, softly, “This has to end, Mr. Iero. It’s gone on too long already.”

Frank had been expecting it, of course—he would have been a fool not to expect it. Hearing the words still left him at a total loss, feeling as though he’d been punched in the stomach and struck on the head all at once.

After several moments passed with no response from him, she went on, seeming determined to say her piece now that she had begun.

“I place the blame mainly on myself—I should never have come here to begin with, and I certainly should never have encouraged your attentions. The truth is that I found myself rather absurdly affected by those attentions, but that’s a poor excuse for having acted so far against all common sense. I cannot undo what my lack of judgment has led to, but I can—I must—prevent it from going any further.”

“Wait,” Frank broke in at last, taking a step closer to her. “I can’t deny that we’ve both acted rashly, and that my own conduct has been decidedly ungentlemanly, and I apologize again for that. But I don’t regret meeting you, not for a moment. I’ve spent every day since we last parted hoping it wouldn’t be for the last time, and now, to hear you speak of ending things…”

She turned away from him, taking a deep breath as if to steel herself. “When we part tonight, it _will_ be for the last time. It must be. Forget me, and forget we met.”

“I doubt I could do that even if I wanted to,” Frank protested.

“Do you think it’s what _I_ want?” she demanded. With her back turned to him in the dim glow of the lanterns, Frank could barely see her face, but her voice was thick, as though she were fighting tears. “What I want doesn’t matter, and I should have remembered that.”

Her voice shook on the last words, and Frank moved without thinking, coming up close behind her and putting his hands on her upper arms.

“Don’t,” he whispered, tilting his head up to press his cheek against her hair. “Please, don’t. I’m sorry.”

She tensed, and he thought she would pull away, but then her shoulders sagged and she leaned back against him. After a moment, Frank let go of one of her arms to put his arm around her waist instead—breaking his promise to be a gentleman, but it seemed he had little to lose, now—and, when she allowed that, he tilted his head to kiss her cheek, finding it damp.

She sighed, and her hand landed on his arm; instead of pushing it away, her fingers curled lightly around his wrist. “Frank,” she breathed, and it didn’t sound like a protest.

He held her carefully, as if she were a bird he had caught, and pressed a light, swift kiss to her jaw, and then the shell of her ear, and then—his heart pounding so hard she could surely feel it—to the curve where her neck met her shoulder, just above the cut of her dress.

She went stiff again at that, pulling away from him a bit. “You should stop,” she said, her voice low.

Frank knew he should, and knew he should back away instantly at her words. Instead, he craned his neck to look at her as well as he could, and asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

“There’s very little I want less,” she whispered, her own head turned and so close he could feel her breath on his face. But when he leaned in, trying to close the distance between their mouths, she turned away quickly and said, more firmly, “But you should.”

Frank swallowed hard, but nodded, and made himself let go and step back. She took another few steps away and turned to face him, cheeks flushed and eyes wide behind her mask.

“You see?” she asked. “I forget myself every time you come near me, and it can’t go on, Frank. I can’t ask you to show restraint I’m apparently not capable of, and I can’t—I could never give you what you want.”

Frank struggled to collect himself, unable, for a few moments, to focus on anything beyond how badly he wanted to touch her again. He put his hands behind his back again, clasping them together tightly, as if worried they would reach for her of their own accord if he didn’t.

“You must think I have very little regard for your honour,” he said at last. “And I’ve behaved appallingly, I know, and I beg your pardon for it. As I said before, I would court you properly if I could.”

“I believe you,” she told him, with a faint, sad smile. “And as I’ve said, if I could tell you who I am, I would. The ‘if’s in this situation count for very little, I’m afraid.”

“You sound so certain of that,” Frank said, looking down. “Whatever your circumstances are, that you say you couldn’t tell me—I would never ask you to trouble yourself on my account, but if things could be changed, and you wished to—”

She cut him off, shaking her head. “If I could change anything, I would have before this. Believe me, if you knew the truth of my circumstances, you would never want to see me again.”

Frank looked back up, meeting her eyes. “Forgive me, my lady, but I don’t believe that for an instant.”

“Then think me a liar,” she said coolly. “There are worse things you could think, if I told you who I am.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he pleaded, but she shook her head again.

“No. There’s nothing else I can say to you, Frank. I—I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

She started to move past him, back towards the Grove, and Frank moved to stop her impulsively, catching hold of her arm.

“Wait,” he protested. “Please. You can’t simply walk away and ask me to forget you.”

“I can’t do anything else,” she told him. “Let me go.”

“Tell me your name,” he went on stubbornly. “Even if I never see you again, give me that much to remember you by.”

She looked at him, eyes wide and lips parted, once again putting him in mind of some wild, startled creature. “The only thing I can give you to remember me by is—”

“Yes?” Frank breathed, eyes locked on hers.

She closed her eyes and leaned forward, closing the distance between them. There was nothing ladylike about the kiss, nothing timid or gentle. She pressed her mouth to his boldly, one hand resting firmly on his shoulder, and Frank stood frozen in shock for amount before bringing his arms up and around her, pulling her close. He felt the press of her body against his for a brief moment, and then she broke away, pushing at his chest.

“No—we cannot—please, let me go.”

Frank obeyed at once, though more unwillingly than he had ever done anything. She took several steps back and almost stumbled, but held up one hand in a warding gesture when he would have gone to her aid.

“Let me go,” she repeated breathlessly, and Frank clenched his hands into fists and held himself still. In another moment, she was nearly running, skirts gathered up, hurrying back towards the Grove.

Frank watched her leave, telling himself that he should heed her words, let her go and try to forget.

His resolve held until she was almost out of sight, and then he followed, trying to move quickly while keeping a safe distance from her.

* * *

Gerard was amazed that he managed to reach the Grove without losing his footing—he was moving as fast as he dared, and his vision was blurred by tears. He saw more than one head turn in his direction as he rushed past, but no one tried to stop him.

He didn’t stop until he was back at his and Michael’s appointed meeting spot, flushed and panting, one hand pressed against a stitch in his side. He stood there, trying to catch his breath and stop the tears before they began in earnest, and when a hand touched his shoulder, he jumped, startled.

“Gerard, what on Earth—” Michael began, and paused when Gerard turned to face him, eyes widening. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you at home,” Gerard said, taking the handkerchief Michael offered to dab at his face. “Please, let’s just go home.”

* * *

Frank stepped outside the gate in time to see her stepping into a carriage, assisted by a tall, thin man in a black coat. A flash of proprietary jealousy went through him at once, and he barely stopped himself from rushing down the street to confront them both then and there. The man—Frank couldn’t see his face, but there was something naggingly familiar about his posture—stepped into the vehicle himself, and Frank turned quickly towards the line of empty cabs waiting outside Vauxhall. If the driver had any qualms about following the other carriage, the number of coins Frank shoved into his hand were enough to overcome them.

They stopped outside of a dimly-lit, ivy-covered house on a quiet street, and Frank felt the same nagging familiarity even before he stepped out of the cab. The other vehicle was already pulling away, its passengers having vanished, presumably into the house. Frank looked up at the building—and felt a weight like a stone settle in his stomach and a queer rush of both heat and cold over his entire body.

He knew the house, knew who he had seen climbing into a carriage with a woman he’d held in his arms not half an hour ago. A woman who had to be in that house with Michael, right now.

The same voice of reason that had told him not to follow her told him to leave; get back into the carriage and go home, wait until he could deal with this revelation with a cooler head.

And then a light flickered on in an upstairs window, and Frank glanced up at it. It was unlatched, open slightly to the summer air, and the ledge beneath it was broad—perhaps, he considered, broad enough to stand on.

He was doubtful, at first, as to whether the ivy would bear his weight, but it was thick enough for him to wrap his hand around several strands at once, twisting them into a makeshift rope. He was clumsy, and his progress was slow, but with the carriage dismissed, there was no one about on the street to see him. There were several moments when his feet slipped on the wall beneath the ivy, and he was sure he would fall, but he managed to gain the ledge, which was indeed broad enough to bear him, if only just. He stood at the very edge, hopefully out of sight to anyone looking out the window, and after a moment, voices reached him from inside.

“I knew this was a bad idea.” That was Michael, sounding halfway between sympathetic and exasperated. “Next time, we try my way first.”

“There isn’t going to _be_ a next time.” That sounded like her voice, but strange, deeper and rougher than a lady’s should. Of course, she also sounded as though she were crying. “Spare me the mockery, please.”

“All right, all right,” Michael sighed. “Stop crying, your face looks absolutely frightful.”

“Then get me _out_ of this damned thing so I can wash.”

Frank felt himself flush with anger and jealousy again at those words, at the pictures they conjured in his mind. Certain that whatever was transpiring in that room could be no worse than his imagination, he shifted carefully on the narrow ledge, bending to look through the window.

* * *

Gerard didn’t need Michael to tell him his face was a fright; he kept wiping futilely at it with the handkerchief, which kept coming away all the more smeared with tears and face-paint, as he tried in vain to compose himself. He was still half-dressed, the gown unbuttoned and hastily pushed to his waist so that Michael could work on unlacing the stays.

“What was that noise?” Michael asked suddenly, pausing.

“What noise?” Gerard asked, and sniffled.

“I thought I just heard something at the window,” Michael said, and Gerard was about to ask what it had sounded like when there was another noise, this one far more audible.

It sounded rather like someone shouting and then banging against a pane of glass, and it was explained a moment later when Frank came tumbling through the open window and into Gerard’s bedroom.

Gerard froze like a startled rabbit, staring at him in disbelieving horror. Frank picked himself up off the floor, looked around dazedly, and then froze himself when he spotted Gerard, wide-eyed with shock.

Michael was the first to speak or move. “Frank—” he began, stepping towards his friend, and Frank looked at him, then back at Gerard, and then back at Michael. For a moment, there was nothing in his face but confusion, but then his expression began to darken anger.

“What in God’s name is _this_?” he demanded.

“I told you,” Gerard said, and then quailed when Frank’s gaze snapped back to him. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if that could somehow hide the way he was dressed, and went on. “I _told_ you you wouldn’t want to know the truth.”

Frank stared at him, eyes searching Gerard’s face for a long moment. “It was you all along?” he finally asked, voice low. “Every time?”

Gerard closed his eyes, unable to face the look in Frank’s, and nodded.

“You _bastard_ ,” Frank said, and Gerard’s eyes snapped open again, but Frank was looking at Michael.

“I sat there and poured my idiotic heart out to you, and you just—” he broke off, hands clenching into fists. “The two of you had a good laugh about that afterwards, I suppose.”

“No,” Gerard interrupted. He took a step forward, arms still crossed awkwardly, almost tripping on his skirts, feeling patently absurd and as though he were trapped in a bad dream. “Think what you will about me, but Michael wanted me to tell you the truth from the moment he knew you were involved.”

“Why should I believe a single thing you say?” Frank demanded, and Gerard winced at the venom in his tone. “Even if that were the truth, he might have told me himself.”

“Frank…” Michael stepped towards him, hands spread in a placating gesture. “You’re right. I helped him when I shouldn’t have, and I can make no excuse for that.”

“Then why—”

“He’s my brother,” Michael said simply.

“Your…your _brother_?” Frank echoed incredulously. He looked between the two of them, then raked a hand through his hair, laughing helplessly. “This is insane.”

“Frank—” Gerard reached out cautiously, fingertips brushing his arm.

Frank jerked away from his touch, his arm upraised as if to strike Gerard. “Don’t,” he said, and there was a dangerous thread of anger in his voice. “Don’t touch me.”

Gerard flinched more from the words than from Frank’s raised hand, stumbling back a few steps, and then Michael was between them, pushing Gerard back a bit further.

“I think perhaps you should leave, Frank,” he said flatly.

Frank lowered his arm, still angry, but making a visible attempt to compose himself. “Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed after a moment, and turned back towards the window, only to have Michael grab him by the arm.

“Through the _door_ , for God’s sake. I’m not letting you go out a window while you’re this angry, you’ll break your neck for certain.”

Frank scowled, but let Michael steer him out of the room without protest. He didn’t look at Gerard again as he left.

Gerard held himself still until the door closed behind the two of them. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he simply collapsed, sinking in a heap on the floor. He wasn’t crying any longer, but he was shaking all over, and when he felt able to move again, all he did was draw his legs up and wrap his arms around his knees, burying his face in crumpled silk and trying to remember how to breathe properly.

“…Gerard?”

Gerard could think of few things that could make the evening more of a nightmare, but hearing his mother’s voice certainly qualified.

For a moment, he considered simply staying where he was and pretending he hadn’t heard her, and might have done so if he’d had the faintest hope of it working. Instead, he took a deep breath, and raised his head.

Mrs. Way stood in the doorway in a dressing gown and slippers, eyeing her son with a mixture of puzzlement and concern.

“I heard voices,” she said, and added, with a raised eyebrow, “And I suppose there must be some reason for the way you’re dressed, but I’m less certain if it’s one I should inquire after.”

“Er.” Gerard reached behind himself, trying to finish unlacing the stays and only succeeding in tangling the laces. “I can explain—”

His mother crossed the room briskly to stand behind him, waving his hands away. “Leave this to me. You start explaining.”

* * *

By the time Gerard had gotten free of the stays, retreated behind a screen to finish undressing and don a nightshirt and dressing gown, washed away the smeared remnants of the cosmetics, and stowed everything in the trunk beneath his bed, the entire story had come out. His mother listened patiently, prompting him to go on now and then when he hesitated, and raising an eyebrow but not commenting when she saw the other dresses tucked away in the chest. The only major interruption came when Michael returned from having seen Frank out and into a carriage that would take him home. Returning to Gerard’s room to find their mother there, he had been torn between mild horror and helpless laughter, and meekly accepted her instruction to “go to bed, before you find a way to help your brother into any further nonsense”.

When Gerard reached the end of the story, with Frank’s discovery of the truth and his reaction, his voice wavered and he felt tears threaten again. Mrs. Way took one look at him and declared that what he needed was a strong cup of tea, and steered him down into the kitchen to prepare it herself rather than wake one of the servants.

It wasn’t until they were both settled at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of tea in front of each of them, that she spoke.

“I’ve always known you were…different,” she said, her tone fond. “Special, I would say, and your grandmother would have, as well. I think she always loved you just a bit more for it.”

Gerard ducked his head at that, smiling a bit sadly as he cupped his hands around the tea, still too hot to drink. His mother went on.

“I would never ask you to be anything but what you are, but the rest of the world isn’t so understanding. You should know that as well as I, if not better.”

“I do,” Gerard protested. “I do. I just…wanted to pretend that things were different. For a little while, at least.”

“I understand that,” his mother said, adding in a low tone, “perhaps better than you think. But not all impulses, however understandable, are to be indulged.” She looked at him, sternness creeping into her gaze. “You’ve practiced an appalling deception on that young man, and that’s bad enough. But the trouble you’ve caused him is nothing to how he could pay you back, if he chose.”

Gerard’s heart sank once again as he took in her meaning. He hadn’t even thought of that before; earlier, it had seemed as though there could be nothing worse than the anger in Frank’s eyes and voice and the way he had pulled back from Gerard’s touch.

“You know that your father and I have never paid much heed to gossip, or cared overmuch about our family’s reputation,” Mrs. Way went on. “But there is gossip and reputation, and then there is what could become of you—of all of us, but you most of all—if this became known.”

Gerard took a too-large sip of his tea, scalding his tongue, and then nodded. “I should have thought of that sooner. I’ll see if Michael will speak to him about it; God knows his chances of convincing Frank to keep this to himself will be better than mine would.”

His mother nodded in agreement, sipping her own tea, and gave him a long, considering look. “Not that it makes your actions any less reprehensible, but…you grew quite fond of him, didn’t you?”

“It’s hardly as though that matters,” Gerard said dismissively, and then, when she went on looking at him, he closed his eyes and admitted, “Yes.”

He heard her stand, and then her hand settled on his hair, stroking it gently, as she used to do when he was a boy.

“It will pass,” he said softly, trying to pretend his eyes weren’t stinging. “It always has before.”

He’d learned, growing up feeling as he did, that if he couldn’t change the way he was, he could at least let infatuation die out if he was patient enough. From the first boy he’d ever caught himself admiring, to the schoolmate who had fumbled in the dark with Gerard willingly enough, but wouldn’t kiss him or speak to him in public, his feelings had always passed in time.

Mrs. Way made a low, sympathetic sound, smoothing her hand over his hair again. “I won’t tell you it’s wrong to feel as you do; I won’t give you any sermons I know you’ve heard before. But I do worry about your happiness.”

“I do well enough,” Gerard replied. It was a lie and both of them knew it, but the reasons for his unhappiness ran deeper than his predilections, and were nothing he was overeager to discuss with his mother, especially tonight.

“As you say.” She sounded less than convinced, but didn’t press him further. She returned to her chair, and they drank their tea in silence for a few moments.

“I have some things put away,” she said at length. “Jewellery, a fan, some hair combs—I had meant to save them for my granddaughters, if either you or Michael ever saw fit to provide me with any. I wouldn’t suggest you wear them anywhere out of the house, but if you’d like them…”

Gerard smiled in spite of himself, shaking his head. “Thank you, but I think my dealings with ladies’ accessories are over.”

* * *

To say that Frank was out of sorts the next day would have been a vast understatement. He had arrived home late, and, utterly confounded by the evening's end, had thought to go to bed and leave off thinking about it until the morning. But he'd been unable to _stop_ thinking about it, tossing and turning for hours before finally falling into a fitful sleep, near dawn.

That had been no better; he'd woken groggy and confused from dreams that had shifted back and forth between anger and desire, between the beautiful, mysterious woman he'd spent so much time yearning for in the past few weeks, and the man he'd seen last night: crossed arms doing nothing to hide the stays, hazel eyes wide with shock and lined with smudged kohl, at once more obscene and more vulnerable than if he’d simply been naked.

Bleary from lack of sleep and angry at himself as well, now, he'd kept to himself, pacing back and forth in his bedroom and trying to make sense of something that seemed to defy sense entirely.

Michael called on him shortly after noon.

Frank's parents would no doubt have found it curious if he had thrown Michael out or struck him on the spot, so he did neither, clasping his hands tightly behind his back and saying nothing as the two of them retreated to the privacy of Frank's room.

"There are things that need to be said," Michael began, before Frank could speak. "After I've said them, you can hit me, or tell me to get out and never come back, whatever you like, but hear me out."

Frank glared at him for a moment, mouth set in a stubborn line, but then nodded. "Very well. I suppose you'd better sit down."

They settled into chairs across from each other, and Michael braced his elbows on the arm of his chair and steepled his fingers, looking down at his hands for a moment before beginning.

"I can see why you would think this all a joke at your expense, but we truly didn't intend for you to become involved in it. Gerard merely wanted to see if he could get away with dressing as he did, at first, and when he met you, he had no idea of your connection to me. As he said last night, I wanted him to tell you the truth, or at least stop meeting with you. But I still enabled his actions, and all I can do is ask your forgiveness for that."

Frank shook his head, his expression still stubborn. "Say I accept what you tell me about how this started. Very well, I've done my share of foolish things in the name of curiosity or fun. But then, to lead me on as he did--for God's sake, Michael, he _kissed_ me. What am I supposed to see that as, if not a joke I don't find particularly amusing?"

Michael sighed. "You're going to hit me," he said, in a tone of dour certainty, before going on. "Frank, Gerard…prefers the company of other men."

Frank stared at him blankly for a moment, and then felt himself flush. "…Oh. I--I see."

Michael nodded. "I assure you, there was nothing funny about it for him, either."

Frank's only response was to fidget, slumping down in his chair a bit and avoiding Michael's eyes. It had been easier to think of all this as a prank gone wrong, but looking back on the night before, that didn't fit. Either Michael's brother was a very accomplished actor--or the feelings Frank had thought he'd detected had indeed been there.

"I--" he stammered after a moment. "I don't--I've never--"

"I didn't think so," Michael said dryly. "Gerard knew it was most likely foolish to…become attached, as it were."

"So why tell me?" Frank asked. "For all you know, I might take more offence at this than at being the target of a joke."

Michael looked at him squarely. "Do you?"

Frank threw his hands in the air. "I don't know. I thought I was falling in love with a woman even though I barely knew her, and she turned out to be _your brother_. I barely know up from down anymore."

"I am sorry, Frank," Michael said. He hesitated briefly, then added, "But since you asked, I'm telling you this because I think you deserve the whole truth, and because if you're going to judge Gerard for his actions, I'd prefer you at least understand what his motives truly were and weren't."

"Very well," Frank said sullenly. "Is that all?"

Michael pressed his lips together for a moment. "Not quite. I have no right to ask anything of you, I know that, but--"

"But you want me to keep all of this to myself, I suppose," Frank finished for him. "You needn't worry."

Michael looked at him a bit sceptically. "You won't tell anyone?"

"Michael, I'm angry, but that doesn't mean I want to bring that kind of trouble down on your brother. Frankly, I'd be perfectly content to forget it happened."

“All right,” Michael said, adding, awkwardly, “Thank you.”

“Was there anything else?” Frank asked curtly.

Michael gave a small sigh. “I suppose apologizing again would more likely irritate you than make you any more likely to forgive either of us?”

Frank raked a hand through his hair with a frustrated noise. “Michael…give me more time before you ask for that.”

Michael looked down, biting his lower lip for a moment. “Of course.” He stood, nodding. “Thank you for listening, at least.”

* * *

A week passed.

Gerard was in low spirits, of course, but he tried to keep from brooding overmuch. He returned to his old habits—resuming studies he’d been neglecting, making more frequent trips to his favourite bookstores again—and in general tried to return to the way his life had been before he’d ever been struck with the idea of dressing like a woman. Before he had ever met Frank.

He was in his room one evening, bent over a book as usual, occasionally scribbling something in a journal (he had a vague notion of writing something one day, if he could ever turn his growing collection of untidily-kept notebooks into a coherent manuscript), when a sound caught his attention. He looked up, brow furrowed, and was able to identify the noise a moment later—footsteps and voices, coming closer.

“—don’t think you should simply barge in on him.” That was Michael, sounding irritated.

“If he doesn’t wish to speak to me, he should be perfectly capable of telling me so,” came a second voice, and Gerard’s heart leapt into his throat as he recognised it.

A moment later, the door was thrown open to reveal Frank standing there, with Michael hovering over his shoulder.

Gerard stood, bracing his hands on the desk behind him. “Mr. Iero,” he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “I must confess, this is a surprise.”

Frank stared at him for a moment—still unused to seeing Gerard this way, perhaps—then squared his shoulders and spoke. “I apologize for my abruptness, but I wanted to speak to you.” Glancing over his shoulder at Michael, he added, “privately.”

Michael gave him a cool, blank stare, and then looked past him to Gerard, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

“It’s all right,” Gerard told him. “Leave us alone, please.”

Michael gave a brief shrug. “Very well. Call if you change your mind.”

Gerard nodded, and as Frank stepped into the room, Michael pulled the door closed—but left it unlatched and slightly ajar, Gerard noted.

And then it was just the two of them, facing each other awkwardly across the length of the bedroom.

“…You said you wished to speak to me?” Gerard finally prompted, when Frank continued to simply look at him without speaking.

“Yes,” Frank said, but he seemed distracted. “I’m sorry, I was…you’re so different like this. Your voice, the way you stand…but your face is the same.”

Gerard glanced downwards, flustered as ever with Frank’s attention on him. “Did you come here just to assure me that my face still looks like my face, Frank?”

“No.” Gerard heard Frank move, coming closer. “No, I came here because I don’t seem to be able to stop thinking about you.”

Gerard looked up at that, breath catching in his throat, as Frank moved closer still. He was flushed, Gerard noticed, and he weaved a little as he walked forward.

“I used to dream about you,” Frank went on. “I thought that would end once I knew what you were,” (Gerard flinched a bit at those words, but Frank went on without a pause), “but it didn’t. My dreams don’t seem to care.”

“You’re drunk,” Gerard commented. Even if Frank’s words and behavior hadn’t been making that evident, he was close enough by now for Gerard to smell the liquor on his breath.

Frank wasn’t the only one adjusting to someone who seemed familiar, but unsettlingly different; this was not the same Frank Gerard had met in Vauxhall, not the carefree young man who might flirt with a young woman and push the limits of what society allowed, but step back instantly at a word from her. Frank had been a gentleman then—a roguish one, perhaps, but a gentleman nonetheless. Now he was drunk and possibly angry and alone in a room with a man who had wronged him, and Gerard wasn’t sure he could depend on any measure of gentlemanliness.

“I am _very_ drunk,” Frank corrected. “Do you know what I dreamed about last night?”

It seemed like a rhetorical question, but he paused, as though waiting for an answer. Gerard shook his head.

“I dreamed about kissing you,” Frank told him. “It was like when we were at Vauxhall together—not the first time, the second. When you kissed me. But in my dream, you were just as you are now. No dress.”

Gerard felt himself flush, uncomfortably aware of how close Frank was. “People dream a lot of things. Most of them don’t make any sense when you wake, or aren’t anything you would ever do—”

“That’s exactly what I told myself, when I woke,” Frank interrupted. “But I still couldn’t stop thinking about the dream. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought that perhaps the reason I keep dreaming and thinking about it is because some part of me wants to kiss you again.”

Gerard froze at that, eyes wide. Frank raised a hand, and for a moment Gerard thought he was going to strike him after all—but Frank’s hand simply landed on his cheek, a bit clumsy, but not overly rough.

“So I got drunk, and decided to come here, and kiss you, and see what came of it,” Frank finished, in a matter-of-fact tone, and leaned in.

Gerard wouldn’t have had time to move away even if he hadn’t still been frozen in surprise. Before he could so much as blink, Frank was kissing him, his mouth tasting of brandy, far bolder and rougher than when he had stolen a kiss beneath the trees at Vauxhall. His other hand came up to tangle in Gerard’s hair, and Gerard yielded to him helplessly, willingly, closing his eyes and bringing his hands to rest lightly on Frank’s shoulders.

Frank drew back after a long moment, and Gerard unconsciously swayed towards him, lips still parted. Then he steadied himself, opening his eyes to find Frank studying him closely.

“I thought it would feel stranger than that,” he murmured. “Knowing I was kissing another man.”

“How did it feel?” Gerard asked breathlessly.

Frank hesitated, brow furrowed. “It _is_ strange, if I think about it. But it was easier than I expected to stop thinking, and with that done…it felt good.”

Gerard let out a small sigh. “Frank—”

Frank leaned toward him again, cutting him off. Their lips brushed, and Gerard wanted nothing more than to stand there and let Frank kiss him as long as he liked. Instead, he braced his hands on Frank’s shoulders and pushed back, breaking the kiss.

“No,” he said, almost unable to believe he was saying it.

Frank frowned at him, seeming puzzled. “No?”

“You’re drunk and confused,” Gerard pointed out. “This isn’t right.”

“Oh, and suddenly you’re so concerned with what’s right?” Frank replied, a bitter note in his voice. His hand was still in Gerard’s hair, curled around the back of his head, and he tugged at it lightly, trying to pull Gerard back to him.

Gerard’s eyes narrowed, and he drew himself up to his full height, a few inches taller than Frank. “And if I let this go on now, what happens when you’re sober again and you realize what you’ve done? I should have refused to dance with you, the night we met. I shouldn’t have encouraged your attention when we met again. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me the first time, and I should certainly never have kissed you the second. Our whole acquaintance has consisted of me not being strong enough to say no to you when I should have. Not again, not this time.”

“Let me worry about what happens when I’m sober,” Frank countered. “I don’t understand. Isn’t this what you want?”

“What I _want_ is for you to want to kiss me without thinking I’m a woman or being stinking drunk,” Gerard protested, bitterness creeping into his own voice. “What are the chances of that, do you suppose?”

“I’ll consider it,” Frank said dismissively, and tried again to pull Gerard close.

This time, he succeeded in bringing their mouths together—if only for a moment. Then Gerard put his hands on Frank’s chest, gathered his strength, and pushed hard. Of the two of them, Frank was in better physical condition, compactly built and fairly strong, but he was also smaller, unsteady on his feet, and clearly not expecting such forcefulness from Gerard. He stumbled backwards and almost went tumbling over a chair, catching and steadying himself against it at the last moment.

Not waiting for Frank to recover, Gerard strode past him to the door, pushing it open further. “Michael?” he called. “Would you come here, please?”

Given how quickly he appeared, Michael must have been hovering close enough to listen. He looked between the two of them—Frank still holding onto the chair, Gerard’s hair sticking out at odd angles where Frank’s hands had been, both of them flushed—and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“I think it would be best if Frank went home,” Gerard said, keeping his voice steady with some effort. “Would you see him on his way?”

“Of course,” Michael said, moving past Gerard to usher Frank out of the room. Frank went willingly enough, but reached out as they passed the door, grabbing hold of Gerard’s arm.

“Gerard—” he began, and Gerard started slightly at hearing Frank say his name for the first time, but pulled away determinedly.

“Go home, Frank. Think about this.”

* * *

Frank stumbled once on his way down the stairs, Michael steadying him. Normally he held his liquor fairly well, but it wasn’t simply the drink affecting him tonight.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left the two of you alone,” Michael muttered.

“Yes, well, I was hoping that would go better,” Frank replied sullenly.

“Now you sound like Gerard,” Michael said dryly. “Either the two of you need to start using your heads, or I need to start minding you both better.”

Frank fell silent until they were outside, then he said, quietly, “I don’t know what to do, Michael. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Michael shook his head, his expression sympathetic. “I don’t have any advice to give you, Frank. Except…” he trailed off, hesitating.

“What?” Frank asked.

“Don’t make my brother think you want him unless you truly do,” Michael finished, and, before Frank could reply, raised an arm to stop a passing carriage.

He helped Frank climb into the cab and exchanged a few words with the driver. His head spinning, Frank let his head fall back against the seat cushions and closed his eyes, Michael’s last words echoing through his mind.


	3. Three

Summer began to turn towards fall, bringing with it Michael’s birthday. He had made plans to celebrate the occasion with a dinner party, inviting quite a few of his friends—including Frank, before he’d discovered the truth about Gerard.

Frank wasn’t certain, now, whether he should consider himself still invited or not. Calling at the Way household again didn’t seem the best idea, and as the day drew closer, he had yet to encounter Michael out and about anywhere. He finally wrote a letter, short and formal, trying to say what needed to be said while avoiding any specific mention of Gerard or their situation.

_Michael,_

_I should like, first of all, to apologize for my behaviour the other night, and to request that you convey that apology to any others I may have offended._

_Secondly, I have an enquiry concerning your birthday. If, after recent incidents, you or any other concerned parties would prefer I not attend, I would understand completely. If, however, my invitation still stands, I can promise that I will do my utmost to avoid any further unpleasantness._

_Regards,  
Frank_

The reply he received was even briefer, and similarly to the point.

_Frank,_

_If you still want to attend, I would be more than glad to have you there. I do hope we can avoid any unpleasantness, and you may rest assured everyone here will do their best to see that we do._

_Michael_

* * *

Gerard had been as solitary as ever since Frank’s last visit to the house, but he wasn’t about to spend Michael’s birthday hiding in his room—even if that would have meant being able to avoid seeing Frank again.

“Are you certain about this?” Michael asked him that morning. “If you’d prefer not to be at the party, I would understand.”

Gerard shook his head. “I can’t hide in my room forever, and I don’t want to miss your birthday party. I think I can stand to be around him for one evening with other people about.”

It was easy enough to say that with confidence; Gerard only hoped he would be able to hold himself to his word when he found himself face-to-face with Frank again.

* * *

Frank still felt uncertain, arriving at the party, but he squared his shoulders, rang the bell, and walked inside, nodding pleasantly to the butler and exchanging greeting with a few other guests before finding Michael in the parlour.

“I’m sober as a judge, and I came in through the front door,” he announced. “I hope that will set a good tone for the evening.”

“So do I,” Michael replied, and then gave one of his unexpected smiles. “I’m glad you came, Frank.”

Frank returned the smile. “Happy birthday.” He glanced around, raising his eyebrows. “Is…?”

“He’s still upstairs,” Michael informed him. “Dithering or fussing with his cuffs or something of the kind, I imagi—wait, here he is,” he finished, glancing over Frank’s shoulder.

Frank turned to see Gerard descending the stairs. He paused when he noticed Frank standing next to Michael, paling slightly (not that he had much colour to begin with), and then continued down, jaw set in a determined expression.

Frank had seen him several times in a dress and once half _out_ of a dress; the last time, when Frank had barged into Gerard’s room unannounced, he’d been in stocking feet and a loose, stained shirt. This was the first time Frank had seen him dressed properly, like a gentleman.

He looked very striking in a neat black coat and waistcoat, his only adornment a bit of lace at the cuffs and collar. His dark hair was loose, falling around his face in sharp contrast to his pale skin, and his eyes were as captivating as ever.

Altogether it was quite the entrance, and Gerard had attracted quite a bit of attention by the time he reached the foot of the stairs. Frank heard someone behind him say “So this is the mysterious brother.”

“He exists after all,” Frank replied over his shoulder, and saw Gerard blush faintly.

Michael went to meet him at the foot of the stairs, and they exchanged a few quiet words (Michael perhaps convincing his brother not to flee back upstairs), before coming back into the parlour together. Gerard paused as they passed Frank, glancing at him uncertainly.

“Good evening,” Frank said, inclining his head slightly. “Gerard, isn’t it?”

Gerard gave a tiny, hesitant smile. “Yes. Good evening, Frank.”

* * *

They were seated several places away from each other at dinner, making it nearly impossible to talk without slighting their closer companions. That suited Frank well enough; he was eager to speak to Gerard again, but not with an audience.

After dinner there was brandy, and more informal conversation, and a few people took turns playing the piano or singing. Frank had been careful to drink lightly at dinner, and noticed Gerard doing the same; he took two glasses of brandy now, but only filled them halfway, and approached Gerard, who was standing at the back of the room.

“May I speak with you alone?” he asked in a low voice, adding, when Gerard gave him a slightly dubious look, “I would ask Michael to chaperone, but taking him away from his own party seems both unfair and more likely to attract attention.”

“True,” Gerard allowed, and, after a thoughtful pause, “Come with me.”

He led Frank through a side door into what looked like a small study; Frank glanced around the parlour as they left, and no one seemed to be taking any particular note of their departure.

“So long as we don’t shout, no one should be able to hear our conversation over the music,” Gerard explained as he shut the door. He took one of the brandies when Frank offered it, but only toyed with the glass a bit, not drinking yet. “Very well, what did you wish to say?”

Frank took a hasty sip of his own drink, fixing his gaze on the book-lined wall behind Gerard rather than look directly at him.

“I’ve been thinking, these past few days,” he began awkwardly. “As you suggested I should.”

Gerard ducked his head, loose hair falling over his eyes. Instantly, Frank’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and tuck it behind his ear.

“And?” Gerard prompted gently. “Have you reached any conclusions?”

Frank sighed. “Yes and no.” He took another sip of brandy, swallowing too fast and wincing a little at the burn in his throat, and pressed on before he could reconsider his words. “What it comes down to is this: I have certain feelings for you that I don’t fully understand, but cannot deny. I doubt I ever would have conceived them if I hadn’t believed you to be a woman, but they haven’t diminished upon my learning your identity, as I thought they might.”

Gerard was looking at him now, cheeks tinged with pink, eyes wide. He looked as though he wanted to be pleased, or relieved, but wasn’t quite sure either was appropriate. The longer Frank looked at him, the more he wanted to either grab Gerard and kiss him or flee the room, so he turned away, pacing back and forth in agitation as he went on.

“Everything I know, everything I’ve been taught, tells me it’s wrong to feel as I do. And yet—and yet there’s something within me that calls it right, and it won’t be ignored.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Gerard murmured. “I’ve been aware of my own…inclinations since I was a boy. Whether they’re right or wrong, I can’t say; they’re enough a part of who I am that it doesn’t matter. It may not be that way for you.”

“Perhaps not,” Frank agreed. “Perhaps I don’t care.”

Gerard met his eyes for a moment, and then glanced away, swallowing hard. “You say that because you don’t know what it’s like.”

“I’m beginning to learn,” Frank replied, taking a step closer. “It would be easier if I could disregard these feelings, I know, but knowing that hasn’t helped me to do it.”

“So what do we do?” Gerard asked softly, looking at him.

“I don’t know,” Frank replied honestly. “At the moment, all I know is that I want to kiss you.”

He heard Gerard’s breath catch in his throat, but he didn’t object or move away, and, after a moment, Frank leaned in, tilting his face upwards. Gerard did move, then, bringing a hand up to cup Frank’s jaw and hold him still.

“Frank—” he began. “If you still have doubts about this—”

“If I have doubts,” Frank murmured, “then I’ll bear in mind that I have only myself to blame for acting in spite of them.”

Gerard still looked uncertain, but in spite of it he leaned in, touching his lips to Frank’s lightly. Frank pushed against his hand, trying to deepen the kiss, and Gerard gave in, his hand sliding around to cup the back of Frank’s neck.

Frank remembered there being a desk somewhere to the side; he reached out with one hand and groped about until he found it, then set his drink down, reaching to take Gerard’s as well. Gerard relinquished the glass easily, and before Frank had even finished setting it down, Gerard’s fingers were framing his face again. Held in both Gerard’s hands now, Frank couldn’t take control of the kiss as easily as he would have with a woman. It was strange, but the shiver it sent down his spine was not an unpleasant one.

Gerard held him still when he tried to push forward again, but Frank could still use his own hands, and did, bringing them to Gerard’s waist to tug him closer. At the same time he opened his mouth, tongue darting out to trace Gerard’s lower lip. Gerard made a startled noise at that, his own mouth falling open, and Frank pressed his advantage for a moment before Gerard broke the kiss, gasping like a man coming up from deep water.

“Frank—however far you may be willing to take this, this is hardly the time or the place.”

Frank took a step back, feeling dazed. For a few moments, it had been the easiest thing in the world to forget everything but Gerard; now, with distance between them, he was again acutely conscious of where they were, of the other people just on the other side of the door, of how different this was from any tryst he had ever even considered before.

“Of course,” he said, letting go of Gerard’s waist and stepping back further. Gerard let go as well, clasping his hands behind his back. “Should we go back to the party?”

“We can, if you like,” Gerard said. “But…” he paused, then went on, a bit awkwardly. “I feel as though we still barely know each other, Frank, and I’d like that to change. I think it would be best if we kept our distance, but would you sit and talk with me, for a while?”

Frank smiled crookedly. “I’ve been wanting to know more about you since we first met, I’m hardly going to turn down an invitation to do so. The others may come looking for us eventually, though.”

“Let them,” Gerard replied, with a tiny smile of his own. “They’ll find us having a perfectly normal conversation, as any two gentleman might.”

* * *

They were still talking about half an hour later, when Michael poked his head into the study and said, in a slightly pointed tone, that he’d been wondering where the two of them had gone. They rejoined the party after that, Frank talking easily with the other guests, Gerard mostly keeping quiet, but answering pleasantly enough when spoken to and laughing now and then at some joke.

As the evening wore on, the crowd thinned out, until the only remaining guests were Frank, a young lady by the name of Miss Simmons, and the slightly older cousin who was acting as her chaperone. Gerard had noticed Michael being as attentive to Miss Simmons as he could without neglecting his other guests, and wasn’t surprised when he offered to escort her and her chaperone home (on foot, as they apparently lived quite close).

“I can leave the two of you to keep each other occupied, I suppose,” he said to Gerard and Frank, causing Gerard to choke on the sip of brandy he’d just taken.

Frank only smiled, managing to look remarkably innocent. “I think we’ll manage.”

They said their goodbyes to the departing trio, and then stood together in the parlour, alone in the house now except for the few servants and Gerard’s parents, who had retired to bed hours ago.

“He likes her very much,” Gerard said at length. “I can tell.”

“What, you mean Michael and Miss Simmons?” Frank asked. “She’s pretty.”

Gerard nodded, gazing down at his shoes. A moment later, he heard Frank moving closer and looked up.

“You’re rather pretty yourself, if I might say so,” Frank told him, low.

Gerard blushed at the unexpected compliment, glancing toward the parlour door. With the party essentially over, the servants would be in to neaten the room soon, so that they could seek their own beds.

“I know,” Frank said when Gerard opened his mouth. “Not the time or place.”

“Not the place, no,” Gerard said, and hesitated briefly before going on, a little amazed at himself. “But if—if you’d care to come upstairs with me, I think now may be as good a time as any.”

Frank looked surprised at the invitation, but not—Gerard hoped—displeased. “Really?”

“If you’d like to,” Gerard said quietly.

Frank looked down for a moment, taking a deep breath, and then gave a firm nod. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I believe I would.”

* * *

They went up the stairs quietly, even more awkward now than before. The uncomfortable silence lasted until they were in Gerard’s room, until Gerard turned to say something and found Frank’s lips on his almost at once.

Gerard made a low, pleased noise, bringing his hands up to rest on Frank’s shoulders as Frank’s hands curled around his waist. He let his fingers trail downwards after a moment, unbuttoning Frank’s coat and pushing at it until Frank let go of him to shrug it off, letting it drop to the floor carelessly. Gerard was quick to follow suit, tossing his own coat toward a chair but not sparing a moment to see if it landed there, and then they were kissing again, deep and heady, until Gerard’s head was spinning.

Frank reached around to press a hand against Gerard’s back, and Gerard pushed closer without thinking, bringing their bodies together. For a moment he could feel Frank, hard and hot against his thigh—and then Frank jerked back, looking startled, and Gerard felt his stomach drop as he realised what must have caused that reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, starting to draw away. “If you want to stop—”

“No, no, it’s all right,” Frank replied hastily. “It’s—just let me—”

He reached between them, and when his fingers brushed Gerard’s cock, even through layers of cloth, Gerard’s hips jerked forward helplessly. Gerard kept his eyes locked on Frank’s face; he was looking down, lower lip caught between his teeth and a determined, almost stubborn look on his face. His hand curled around Gerard’s cock, gingerly at first, but then firmer, surer, bringing a helpless moan from Gerard. Frank looked up at that, and an almost mischievous smile darted across his face, just before he ran his fingers up and back down the hard length. Gerard bucked forward again with a strangled noise, and then grabbed Frank’s wrist.

“Wait—come here—”

Taking Frank by the hand, Gerard backed up until they were standing beside the bed. Raising his other hand to Frank’s chest, he touched the top button of Frank’s waistcoat and asked “May I…?”

Frank nodded, reaching to untuck his shirt and shrugging out of the waistcoat as soon as Gerard had it unbuttoned. He jumped a bit when Gerard’s hands slipped beneath his shirt and settled on his bare skin, but raised his arms eagerly to help Gerard rid him of the garment.

He was beautiful, small but well-made, and as soon as his hands were free he reached out, making quick work of Gerard’s buttons. Gerard shed his own waistcoat and shirt more hesitantly, suddenly more self-conscious about his own soft, pale body. But Frank tugged insistently until Gerard’s upper body was as bare as his, and then bent his head to press a kiss to Gerard’s shoulder, eliciting a shiver.

Gerard put his hands on the fastenings of Frank’s breeches, then paused. “Frank…are you certain about this?”

“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop,” Frank said firmly.

“All right,” Gerard whispered, and bent his head as he undid Frank’s breeches, concentrating as if the task were far more complex and difficult.

Frank stepped out of his shoes and bent to push his breeches and stockings down, and as he kicked his clothing away and stood, Gerard could do nothing but stare. Frank smiled, reaching out to tug at Gerard’s waistband.

“I may never have bedded another man before,” he said, “but it seems to me that, ideally, both of us should be naked at some point.”

Gerard bit his lip and took a step back, kicking off his shoes as he did so. He shed the rest of his clothing quickly, before hesitation could grip him again, and looked up to see Frank staring as intently as Gerard had been staring at him a moment ago.

“I know I’m not much to look at,” he began, only to have Frank snort derisively.

“Yes, and I’m such a paragon,” he said, and then held out a hand. “Come back here.”

Gerard took his hand, and Frank drew him close, his other hand reaching up to thread into Gerard’s hair and pull him down for a kiss. Gerard let his mouth fall open under Frank’s, his free hand curling around Frank’s waist and closing the small distance between them. Their cocks brushed again, bare skin on skin, and Frank broke the kiss with a gasp, but he wasn’t flinching or pulling away this time.

“Oh,” he breathed, clutching at Gerard’s shoulders with both hands. “Oh—that’s—”

“Good?” Gerard asked, moving against him.

Frank drew in a sharp, hissing breath, pressing his face into Gerard’s neck. “ _Christ_ , yes.”

Gerard turned his head, scattering kisses along the side of Frank’s face. He had one hand at the small of Frank’s back and the other splayed between his shoulder blades, holding him close. He almost wanted to stay like this and just press against Frank until the world went white, but at the same time he wanted to pull back, linger, make this last.

Frank looked briefly disappointed when Gerard backed away, but didn’t object when he realised where Gerard was headed. Gerard climbed onto the bed, kneeling on top of the rumpled covers and moving back to give Frank room to join him, and Frank followed, pushing Gerard to lie on his back, but resisting when Gerard would have pulled him down as well.

“I believe,” he said, bracing himself on one elbow and trailing the other down Gerard’s chest, “that before we paused earlier, I was somewhere around…here.”

His hand skimmed over Gerard’s belly and down to wrap around his cock again, and Gerard thrust up into the touch with a gasp. Frank touched him slowly, carefully, watching Gerard’s face.

“Is this good?” he asked. “It’s a bit odd, doing this to someone else…”

“It’s perfect,” Gerard said breathlessly. He had one hand fisted in the bedsheets; the other flailed about for a moment before landing on Frank’s arm, the one he was using to hold himself up. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Frank leaned down, speaking close to his ear. “I want to do this well, Gerard,” he whispered. “I want to see you lose control and know it’s my doing.”

“Frank—” the name came out in a broken moan as Gerard squeezed his eyes shut. Frank’s hand sped up, stroking him rougher and faster, and then Gerard was throwing his head back and gripping Frank’s arm and crying out wordlessly, hips jerking erratically as he spilled into Frank’s hand.

“You’re beautiful,” Frank whispered into the stillness that followed, and Gerard opened his eyes, blinking up at him. Frank frowned slightly. “You don’t think you are, do you?”

Gerard looked away, rubbing Frank’s arm distractedly—he’d left nail-marks there, a few moments ago. “I felt beautiful in the dresses,” he said at length.

“You were,” Frank assured him. “But you were more so just now.”

Gerard felt himself blush, an almost giddy smile starting across his face. “Still a flatterer, I see.”

Frank touched his jaw, turning Gerard’s face back towards his. “And I still mean every word,” he said, and kissed him.

Frank was still hard; Gerard could feel him pressing against his thigh. He put a hand on Frank’s shoulder and pushed gently, rolling onto his side as Frank lowered himself onto the bed. They resumed kissing with barely a pause, and Gerard slid his hand down to Frank’s chest. He took his time, circling one of Frank’s nipples slowly with his thumb and then pressing down, making Frank twist against him and moan into his mouth.

Gerard’s hand continued downward with that same leisurely slowness, mapping out Frank’s skin. Frank was clearly impatient, pushing up against Gerard’s hand eagerly. Gerard glanced up at him with a positively mischievous smile, then threw one leg over Frank’s knees and braced his arm across Frank’s hip, holding him down.

Frank made a noise of protest, although he could likely have thrown the restraining hold off, if he’d tried. “Don’t tease,” he demanded.

“Who said anything about teasing?” Gerard asked innocently. “I don’t want to rush through this.”

“You needn’t rush, just _touch_ me, for the love of God.”

Gerard leaned down, seeking to distract him with a kiss. Frank let himself be drawn in, opening his mouth under Gerard’s, and when Gerard finally wrapped a hand around his cock, he broke the kiss with a startled, strangled noise, arching up into the touch.

“If you think I’m beautiful, you should see yourself right now,” Gerard whispered.

With Frank so close, Gerard didn’t need to do much. He twisted his hand a little as Frank rocked into it, trailing kisses down Frank’s neck to his chest, and then covered one of Frank’s nipples with his mouth, running his tongue over it, marveling a bit at his own daring. Frank cried out at that, thrusting harder and then stilling suddenly, and Gerard stroked him through his climax, scattering kisses across his face.

The worst of the mess having been wiped away with a loose corner of the sheets, they lay close together, one of Frank’s arms tucked around Gerard and Gerard’s hand now low on Frank’s belly, rubbing in small circles. For a while they were silent, kissing slowly now, without the urgency of earlier, and then Frank spoke.

“Well. It seems my doubts about this were less than insurmountable.”

“And now?” Gerard asked, with only a little hesitance. “Any regrets?”

“None so far,” Frank replied, and pulled back to look Gerard in the face. “I won’t pretend this…all of this…isn’t still strange to me. But no, I don’t regret it.”

Gerard ducked his head a bit, lowering his eyes. “I imagine it must be. Strange, I mean. But if you still want it in spite of that…”

Frank reached one hand up to push Gerard’s hair back from his face, tuck it behind his ear. “It’s what I want right now. Is that enough?”

Gerard nodded, eyes closed. If the time came when Frank didn’t want this—didn’t want _him_ —any longer, it would hurt, of course. But whereas Gerard’s habits were old and deeply rooted, Frank was younger, rushing headlong into infatuation, and it might be better for him if that infatuation proved fleeting. Gerard had resigned himself to lifelong bachelorhood years ago, but Frank could someday have a pretty wife and children with his bright eyes and infectious laugh, a family and a home and a good life.

All Gerard had to offer, in contrast, was himself.

“Gerard?” Frank murmured, and Gerard looked up to see an expression of concern on his face. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Frank went on. “But I don’t want to raise expectations I can’t be sure of meeting.”

“No, it’s all right,” Gerard assured him. “I understand. And I would not ask for more than you feel you could give.”

Frank leaned in close again, kissing him lightly. “I suppose I should leave soon,” he whispered against Gerard’s lips.

“I suppose,” Gerard agreed reluctantly, even as his hand slid from Frank’s stomach to his hip, as if the mere mention of Frank’s leaving compelled Gerard to keep him there as long as possible.

Frank pressed closer willingly, kissing Gerard’s brow, his cheek, the shell of his ear. “I don’t want to,” he admitted eventually, and then pressed his lips to the hollow beneath Gerard’s jaw, where his pulse beat. Gerard shivered and gasped, arching his head back as he threaded a hand into Frank’s hair to hold him there.

“Then stay a bit longer,” he whispered, when he could speak again.

All Gerard had to offer was himself, and yet Frank was in his bed, still in his arms, and whatever might come after, that was enough for now.

* * *

Gerard woke to muted grey light and soft rustling noises—the sounds of someone getting dressed, he realised, and squinted his eyes open to see Frank standing at the foot of the bed, buttoning his waistcoat.

“What time is it?” he muttered (or tried; not all of the syllables made their way out of his mouth), and Frank looked up.

“I wasn’t going to leave without waking you,” he said at once, and then, “It’s nearly five.”

The servants would likely be stirring soon, if they weren’t already (Gerard had very little idea when they actually woke, given as he was to rising several hours later). Frank needed to leave now, Gerard knew—and yet he held a hand out, as if to beckon him back into bed, and Frank came to his side, the mattress sagging as he perched on the edge.

“If anyone sees me here, or wants to know where I’ve been when I get home, I’m going to tell them we continued our conversation upstairs after the party ended,” he told Gerard. “I had a bit too much to drink and fell asleep in my chair, and you let me stay rather then walk home in such a condition.”

Gerard nodded; it was as good a story as any to explain one man spending the night in another’s room.

Frank reached out to stroke Gerard’s hair gently with one hand, leaning over him. “May I see you again soon?” he asked softly.

Gerard smiled up at him sleepily. “As soon as you like.”

It was difficult to keep from clinging when Frank bent and kissed him, difficult to keep from opening his mouth under Frank’s and pulling him down, morning and servants and sense be damned. Instead, Gerard let the kiss linger for one long, sweet moment, and then broke it, pushing at Frank’s shoulder lightly. “Go.”

* * *

What followed was unlike any relationship Frank had ever found himself in before.

On the surface, they were friends, and that was true enough in its own right. Michael’s reclusive brother and his considerably more extroverted friend had taken a liking to one another in spite of their differences, and as a result they began spending a great deal of time together, often with Michael, sometimes with other mutual friends.

And when they found a chance to be alone, they took it, exchanging furtive kisses and hushed words behind closed doors. They were highly conscious of the risks they were taking (although they had so far avoided anything that could truly be called a crime; Frank’s idea of sodomy was extremely limited and mainly seemed sordid and painful, and Gerard, perhaps suspecting that, had made no mention of it), and cautious about the time they spent together.

It was likely still the most foolish thing Frank had ever done, and, looking at the situation objectively, he might be inclined to wonder what he was doing, whether it was worth the risk. But he found that he wasn’t able to be objective about it often; being with Gerard was still intoxicating, even with the familiarity between them growing. It was foolish, it was risky, it was complicated, and he was, at least for the time being, unwilling to give it up.

* * *

Autumn drew on, and Frank’s own birthday arrived, over a month after Michael’s. He had planned to spend the evening out with friends, and naturally extended an invitation to both Way brothers. He was, therefore, more than a little disappointed when only Michael arrived.

To the group at large, Michael said only that Gerard was, unfortunately, indisposed, and sent his regrets. But a few minutes later, he seized an opportunity to beckon Frank aside, speaking to him in a low voice. "He says he'll meet you at our house later."

Frank quirked an eyebrow. "He didn't want to come out with us?"

"I think he's planning something," Michael replied, adding dourly, "I didn't ask for any details, and I don't want any later, either."

Michael's words left Frank extremely curious, but tried to keep his thoughts in the present and enjoy the evening with his friends. Still, the idea of what Gerard might be planning never left his mind entirely, and later that night, when he and Michael bid their friends goodnight and headed together for the Way house, he felt his heart beat faster.

He and Michael went up the stairs together, talking quietly--a thing which no one in the household would have thought at all curious. But when Michael stopped at the door of his own room, Frank continued down the hall to Gerard's, rapping his knuckles lightly against the door and calling out softly, “Gerard? It’s Frank.”

"Come in," came the low reply, and Frank slipped inside, closed the door securely behind himself, and then turned--and stared.

Gerard stood before him in the blue dress, the one he’d been wearing at their second meeting at Vauxhall. He had left off the wig, simply gathering his own long hair at the back of his neck instead, but his eyes and lips were painted, his figure curved with the shape of the stays he must have been wearing, and the illusion of femininity was still a passable one.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Gerard said, and went on after a brief pause, uncertainty creeping into his tone. “Do…do you like it? You always seemed to like me in the dresses before, but if you’d rather I not wear them now—”

Frank crossed the room in a few steps and cut him off, taking Gerard’s face in his hands and kissing him deeply. He could smell the perfume Gerard had put on; a light floral scent, enticing but not overpowering.

He drew back after a moment, one hand cupping Gerard’s cheek, the other curled around the back of his neck, and spoke.

“This is—I wouldn’t have known how to ask for it, or if you would have wanted to—”

Gerard smiled, smoothing one hand over the silk of his skirts. “I wore them for myself, at first, but I’ve no objection to wearing them for you. Far from it.”

“You look beautiful,” Frank said, taking a step back to look him over.

Gerard gave a small, almost coquettish smile, backing up until he could lean against the wall beside the bed, hands folded behind him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying looking at me, Mr. Iero, but I hope you might be inclined to do more than simply look at some point.”

Frank grinned and followed, crowding Gerard back even further and bracing one hand against the wall beside his head. “I think I may be willing to oblige you.”

He leaned in slowly, taking his time, and Gerard held still, lips parted, letting Frank come to him. Their lips brushed lightly, at first, almost tentatively, until Frank moved again, bringing his other arm up and around Gerard’s waist and pulling Gerard firmly against him in one decisive motion. Gerard gave a little gasp against Frank’s mouth and raised his hands to Frank’s shoulders, pliant and yielding in his arms.

Frank took his hand away from the wall to tangle it in Gerard’s hair, tugging it free of the pins that held it in place as gently as he could, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth down the white line of Gerard’s throat. He pushed forward experimentally with one knee, and Gerard spread his legs with no further urging, letting Frank press him back against the wall and kiss him until they were both flushed and breathless.

At last, Gerard turned his head to speak in Frank’s ear, his breath shallow and uneven. “Far be it for me to interrupt,” he whispered, "but if I don’t take this dress off soon, it’s going to be ruined, and I _am_ rather fond of it.”

Frank drew back a bit, his own breathing unsteady. “Well, then. In the interest of preserving the dress…”

Gerard stepped out of his shoes, nudging them aside with one foot, and turned to stand with his back to Frank, gesturing to the fastenings of the dress. “Would you…?”

“With pleasure,” Frank replied, and pressed a kiss to the smooth skin of Gerard’s shoulder, making him shiver, before setting to work on the row of tiny buttons. When they were all undone, Gerard pushed the dress down, the silk rustling as it landed in a heap around his feet. Stepping free of it with Frank’s help, he bent to pick the dress up, smoothing the skirt with one hand, and laid it aside carefully.

Gerard struggled out of his petticoats with less concern for the state they landed in, and then turned back towards Frank, now wearing only a short linen shift, stockings, and the stays that were still laced tightly around his middle. Frank extended a hand, running one finger along the hard ridge of the whalebone.

“Would you—” he began, and then stopped, uncertain, feeling his cheeks warm.

“What?” Gerard prompted, and, when Frank remained reticent, “Frank, I’m wearing women’s undergarments, I doubt I’m going to balk at whatever it is you want.”

Frank grinned in spite of himself at those words, and then, before he could hesitate again, “Would you leave these on? Would that be uncomfortable?”

Gerard raised his eyebrows a little, and then shook his head. “The worst part is putting them on, they’re not so bad once I’m in them.” He raised a hand to his stomach, resting it against the stays, and looked at Frank curiously. “…Do you like them?”

Frank’s face flooded with heat at that, and he knew he must be blushing.

“It’s all right,” Gerard said, moving closer and lowering his voice, as if they were in danger of being overheard. “Tell me?”

Frank hesitated a moment longer. “Let’s get into bed,” he suggested eventually, hoping an even more intimate setting than the one they were currently in would make it easier to speak.

Gerard nodded, and helped Frank remove his jacket and waistcoat. Frank stripped down to just his shirt then climbed into bed after Gerard, who moved over to make room and then drew the coverlet up over both their legs, though the room was not very cold.

Gerard said nothing further, only propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Frank, and after another moment’s silence, Frank spoke.

“You remember the night I discovered who you were?” he began softly.

Gerard bit his lower lip, eyes downcast. “I doubt I could ever forget it,” he replied, equally soft.

“You were undressing,” Frank went on. “And I saw you like that, and that was how I realised…and afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was angry—”

“I remember that, too,” Gerard whispered, eyes closed, tension in the line of his shoulders.

Frank raised a hand to his cheek, stroking gently, and waited until Gerard relaxed and leaned into the touch before continuing.

“So at first, I thought that was all it was. I was angry, and I was brooding over the thing that had made me angry, as anyone might do. But then I realised…that wasn’t the whole of it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it—about you, dressed like this—and anger was only part of what I was feeling.” He let his hand trail down, tracing over Gerard’s breastbone to rest on the stays. “And when I thought of you, started dreaming about you—not the woman I took you for at first, but _you_ —you were often dressed just as you are now. So, yes, I suppose I do like it.”

Gerard still seemed downcast, not looking at Frank. “I’m sorry,” he said after a brief silence.

Frank’s eyebrows went up. “For what?”

Gerard glanced up at that, seeming puzzled. “…For everything I did. For deceiving you. I should never have done it, and I beg your pardon.”

Frank shifted closer, resting his hand on Gerard’s hip. “I should hope you don’t sincerely regret doing it,” he whispered. “For if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be together now.”

Gerard looked at him, brow furrowed. “But—you were so angry, you said it yourself. And you had every right to be—”

“I did, and I was,” Frank said simply. “And then I moved past it. I won’t say the deception wasn’t wrong, but…but I don’t think that necessarily makes what followed wrong. If you hadn’t done as you did, I doubt I would ever have come to feel as I do about you, and I won’t let the circumstances it came from make me regret that.”

Gerard looked at him for a moment, then smiled tentatively. “All right.”

Frank leaned in and kissed him, then put a hand to his shoulder and pushed gently, until Gerard sank back on the bed as Frank moved over him. Kneeling astride Gerard’s legs, Frank laid both hands on his chest and then swept them down, over stitching and boning and the curved line of Gerard’s waist until they rested on his hips. Gerard sighed with pleasure, pushing against Frank’s hands gently. Sinking back into the pillows and watching Frank with half-lidded eyes, he looked fey and mysterious, his allure undeniable for all that it was strange.

“I wish I could tell you how you look right now,” Frank whispered. “How you looked to me earlier, when I knew it was you in the dress.”

Gerard reached a hand up to touch Frank’s cheek, thumb tracing over his lower lip. “Try?”

Frank paused, searching for the right words. “You still look very like a woman—pretty and soft and sweet.” He let his hands trail down further, until he could slip one between Gerard’s thighs, under the pushed-up hem of his shift. “But I know you’re still a man, beneath it all. And you might think that would spoil the illusion, but…but somehow, it only makes it better.”

“Oh—” Gerard gasped, flushed and breathless from either Frank’s words or the movement of his hand, or both. A moment later, his hands were on Frank’s shoulders, pulling at him insistently.

Frank slid his hands back up to Gerard’s waist as he moved between his open thighs, marveling for a moment at the feel of Gerard against him, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was already strange to think of a time when he could never imagine this, never imagine wanting it. Gerard clutched at him, hips jerking upward, and then they were thrusting mindlessly against each other, all frantic heat and friction until Gerard went rigid, and the quiet, breathy moan he let out at the moment of climax pushed Frank over the edge a moment later. Frank gasped and went limp on top of Gerard, still twitching with aftershocks, and Gerard held him with that surprising strength of his, stroking his hair with one hand.

After a few moments, Frank stirred, raising himself up on his elbows. Gerard still seemed short of breath, and Frank tugged at the stays. “Are you sure you’re all right in these?”

“They are easier to breathe in when I don’t have someone lying on top of me,” Gerard admitted, with a slight wheeze. Frank moved off of him quickly, and he rolled to the side. “Help me out of them?”

Frank nodded, tugging the laces free gently. “How _did_ you manage to get into these without help?” he asked, after having to pause and undo a tangle.

“That’s why I needed time to get ready,” Gerard replied, and then glanced over his shoulder with a small smile. “Perhaps if we do this again, you can help the next time.”

Frank felt a little thrill go through him at the image those words evoked in his mind, and then finally managed to undo the last of the last of the laces. When Frank pulled the stays away, Gerard tugged the shift off as well and brought his legs up to strip off his stockings. Even through the linen of the shift, the stays had left red marks on Gerard’s pale skin, running up and down his sides and cris-crossing in the middle of his back. Frank ran a finger along one of the shallow grooves, and then bent to kiss it, making Gerard gasp and arch his back. At once, Frank wanted him to do it again, and pressed Gerard down once more, this time onto his stomach.

“I’d like that,” he said, bracing himself above Gerard and leaning down to kiss him in a different spot. “If you dressed up again, I mean, but also helping you.”

“I’m glad,” Gerard said, smiling into a pillow, and then stirred. “What time is it? How long can you stay?”

“A little while longer, at least,” Frank replied softly, sliding one hand up Gerard’s side and kissing his shoulder. “We have time.”

It was very likely madness to be here, for any length of time. But then, perhaps it was madness simply to feel as he did. Frank wasn’t about to let that stop him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Lovely Apparition [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973478) by [Opalsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalsong/pseuds/Opalsong)




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